Coffee
by LilacsAndVelvet
Summary: The bell to the door chimed, but nobody had walked in. Outside the door though, sat wired frames in a mug adorned with the American flag.


"Honestly Francis, couldn't you bugger off already?"

The café was warm, and bright compared to the dreary drizzle outside. The walls were painted a deep crimson, and gold, white the light fixtures took on a more romantic feel. There was only one, and it sat on the roof above the cashier's station; bundles of candle sat at each table, with a small matchbox.

Shrugging his shoulders, Francis blew out a match, and smiled lightly.  
"Non. I'll gladly leave when 'e gets 'ere."

The wind blew harshly outside, scrapping along the exterior glass of the doors, and rugged brick. A small bell chimed as a few people left, and a woman walked in, completely soaked.

Arthur's arms, which were previously crossed, shifted slightly and his index fingers were rubbing his temples. He sighed, relieving a bit of stress, before the other sighed as well.  
He coughed into his hand, and took a sip of his tea. When would he arrive?  
"I have hot tea."

The other merely grunted. " I know, I bought i-"

"Your wearing cashmere-"

"Silk."

"Even better. Leave, or I might accidentally spill it."

A gasp. "Angleterre, You wouldn't!"

Two fingers game down on the rim of the cup, causing it to teeter, and tip on the porcelain saucer. Seeing the Briton was all serious, Francis quickly got up, and re-tied his apron. He was suppose to be working, but Antonio had gone missing the second the feisty Vargas stepped through the door for work, so he didn't care much. As much as he wanted to stay, and monitor the next hour or so, Francis did have a job to get to. With a light, but protested, kiss to the blonde's forehead, he was off to take orders.

Hours passed, but Arthur did not grow impatient. He had grown tired, chilled, and un-happy. Several times Francis had wondered over to place his jacket over the others shoulders, and offered that he leave work early, and go home with him. Each was rejected, and the jacket shrugged off every time. It was nearing 6 now, and after the last attempt, Arthur had excepted the jacket, and the Frenchman was offered the seat of the cushion next to him, and had gone as far as resting his head upon his shoulders.

The bell above the door echoed, and a familiar face approached the table, and sat down. He shivered slightly, and was absolutely drenched. A deep frown was set on his face, and vivid violet eyes quivered a bit. He turned his head to cough, and spoke.

"Êllo, Papa." The elders nodded, accepting the non-specified title.

"Mathieu."

This time, he nodded, the tight curl bounced slightly, and looked up to lock with emerald orbs. The stare continued, but it had not been any bit awkward. It felt warm, and relaxing, as if there was a conversation. ".._Did h-he?"_Arthur seemed to ask. Though, he couldn't find the strength to make any movement. The atmosphere seemed to drop sharply as large brows furled, and eye glossed over. Deep breathes..

Finally, Matthew nodded again, and started digging through his pocket.  
Within a few seconds, a set of dog tags slid across the restaurant table, the jingling sounding cynical in manner. Breaking the contact, he looked down, Arthur turned, and buried his head into the jacket, before arms secured around him.

No tears were shed, and it had made Matthew's leave much easier; with a quick hug, he nearly sprinted towards the door, not wanting to be in the room when Arthur had a chance to be truly upset. The storm had gotten worse, and it could easily be mistaken for late night, the light in the café did not extend outside, and the rain had turned to ice.

A low wail was heard, and the hail on the ground mimicked that of the dog tags, sharp, and cold. His hand grabbed at the glasses in his pocket, and quickly turned around to return.  
Before stepping through, he gaze through the window.

Slumped in the booth, were his parents.  
The smaller one shook violently in the arms of the other. Tears could easily be spotted on both, through Francis was not shaking.

Before turning around, Matthew's hand groped his pocket again, and set the frames in the coffee mug by the door. He quickly pushed the door open, allowing the bell to chime, before scurrying off.

* * *

**So basically, I just had this dream an hour ago, and I tried my best to write it down.  
I like the idea of it, so I will be re-doing it tomorrow when I can actually think properly.**

It's probably hard to understand right now, it's night time babble.  
Sorry :)  



End file.
